not with a bang (but a whimper)
by chromeknickers
Summary: His mind hadn't yet touched on the reality that she was leaving. He could barely remember life without her in it. She'd slyly inserted herself into all of his memories, as if she'd been there all along. How could he possibly let her go?


A/N: This is a post-S6 AU fic where Bonnie and Damon have already established a very close friendship. The story was originally drafted in November (2014), before Liz's cancer storyline, but then it came out and I thought it might be too soon to post. It still might be too soon, but oh well. It is what it is, and I hope you can still enjoy it.

* * *

_**this is the way the world ends  
**__**not with a bang but a whimper**_

·

·

·

Damon sat by the fireplace with a cold glass of bourbon in his hand. He could see Bonnie's lips moving, could hear the words coming from her mouth, but they just didn't seem to register.

_Tumour. _

_Between the sinus cavity and the cerebrum. _

_Inoperable. _

_Terminal._

_Terminal._

**Terminal**.

Everything clicked into place then, and he went numb.

"Damon?" Bonnie touched his knee, and it was that contact that finally jolted him awake.

"S'how long do you have?" was all he could manage.

"A month," she said. "Maybe less."

He swallowed thickly with a nod, trying to take it all in. Each of them had faced death before, Bonnie especially, but this was the first time there'd be a definite deadline. A countdown of months, days, hours, minutes and seconds. Would he be counting them all? How many times did he have to lose her?

Damon had more questions he wanted answered, but just then Elena came down the stairs. Bonnie was already up on her feet. She threw him a look, the kind that told him to keep his trap shut, and for once he obeyed.

Good ol' predictable Bonnie—wanting to keep her death a secret from her friends because she was physically incapable of hurting anyone but herself. Ever the martyr; obligated to everyone's feelings but her own. He both loved and hated that about her. Although sometimes he just wished she was selfish.

"Bonnie!" Elena's eyes instantly lit up and she folded her best friend into a hug. "How's your head? No migraines today?"

Bonnie pulled away and glanced sidelong at Damon. "Only when I'm around _him_."

He offered her a feeble shrug. "I do what I can."

"You do too much," Elena said snidely, before turning back to Bonnie. "So are you coming to Caroline's party tonight?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." She rolled her eyes. "She'd probably hunt you down and kill you if you missed her birthday."

Damon tried to keep an impassive face while Bonnie shrugged off Elena's words with a smile. For once he was stumped. He wasn't sure when it happened: when Bonnie became the better liar. He was tempted to throw a dollar at her.

"Well, I'd better take a nap before the party," Bonnie said, her eyes fully registering the fatigue. "My head's still throbbing."

Elena pouted, her dark eyes glittering as she gently took her best friend's head in her hands. "I wish I could take the pain away."

"Me too, Lena." Bonnie's smile waned as she touched Elena's hands. "Me too."

Eventually the two friends let go of each other and brief goodbyes were exchanged. Bonnie grabbed her jacket from the sofa and her eyes lingered on Damon for a moment longer than they normally would have. He didn't react. He was still too numb from the news, still digesting the severity of it. What was he supposed to do with this information?

Bonnie was already out the door when Elena turned on him, her hands resting on her hips. She had her disappointed face on. He knew that look well.

"You know, you can be nicer to Bonnie when she's around."

"I've never been nice to the witch," he drawled. "No need to start now."

It wasn't true, of course. Damon cared for Bonnie deeply; he had for years. Everyone knew this, Elena especially, but said nothing. Their mentality was ignore it and it will go away. Bonnie and Damon's bond made everyone a little uncomfortable, especially considering their beginnings. But Damon had always respected Bonnie, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She was his best friend.

Elena didn't say anything else after that. She just shook her head at him and left the room. She had a party to get ready for and no time to waste on his foolishness.

Damon didn't bother to watch her leave. He didn't listen for her footsteps to fade away. He no longer haunted her every movement. Instead, he glanced down at the tumbler of bourbon still held loosely in his hand. The alcohol had gone tepid.

He really didn't feel like drinking anymore.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Damon got in his Camaro and drove. His mind was plagued with thoughts—thoughts of Bonnie. He idly stared out the window as the scenery blurred by. The world was still turning somehow, yet he felt like he had fallen off.

He parked in front of Bonnie's house, knowing he would have ended up here sooner or later. He could never stay away from her for too long. He walked inside without as much as a knock. He was aware that he was abusing the special privilege of invitation she had granted him, but if he didn't do it, then it just wouldn't be him.

He listened for Bonnie's heartbeat and located her upstairs in her room. Gathering his courage, he climbed the stairs and opened her door. He found her sitting in the bay window, staring outside at the streets below.

Damon stood quietly in the threshold, waiting for her speak, waiting for her to acknowledge his existence.

"Bonnie." She didn't respond. "Bonnie!"

She turned her head. "What?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?" She turned back towards the window. "What it feels like to be dying? Knowing that there's nothing I can do to stop it?"

The words struck him like a stake through the heart.

"But is there really nothing you can do?" he asked. "Nothing _I_ can do?"

"That is _not_ an option, Damon."

She threw him another one of those looks and he crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. So the vampire option was off the table. At least for now...

"So this is it?" He could feel the tension coiling in his gut, waiting for her to say the one thing he didn't want to hear.

"It appears so."

And there it was.

Damon tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a stone lodged in his throat. It was painful to breathe.

"I refuse to accept this," he said. "I refuse to let you give up. There's got to be another way. Maybe some spell or—"

"No spells, Damon. No blood." Bonnie stood up. "I can't fight the inevitable anymore. I just—" she sighed "—I just want this to be over with."

Over with? No, _dead_.

Damon suddenly felt lost. This wasn't his Bonnie talking. This wasn't the witch who never gave up hope, not even when she had to hold onto enough for the both of them. This woman standing before him, _his friend_, who was so easily giving up, wasn't his Bonnie. She couldn't be.

"The doctors said that my migraines will get worse. That I'll begin to experience aphasia and difficulty speaking. I'll lose my motor functions, my sight..." Her voice trembled. "I don't want to go through any of that, Damon."

"And I can't watch you go through that."

Worse than the thought of losing her was the idea of watching her mind and body deteriorate. To see her boundless magic trapped inside a body that no longer obeyed her commands, laid low in misery by the foreign growth deep inside her brain, was too much for him to bear.

His jaw tightened. He knew what she wanted, what only he could give her. "When the time comes... I'll take care of you."

Her face softened. "I know you will."

He broke eye contact with her then and glanced down, taking an unnecessary breath. It was all a little too overwhelming, even for someone as callous as him.

"When will you tell everyone else?"

"Near the end, I guess." She cleared her throat. "When there's no chance for false hope."

Damon simply nodded. His mind hadn't yet touched on the reality that she was leaving. He could barely remember life without her in it. She had slyly inserted her into all of his memories, as if she'd been there all along.

She was there with him in library, sitting in his mother's lap while she read them stories, or in the kitchen stealing biscuits and laying the blame on Stefan. She was standing next to him in the barn, bothering him while he tried to saddle his horse. She was with him on the battlefield, covering his back. She was there in New York City in the 70s, telling him that he was better than this, that he could be better if he only gave himself a chance. That there was hope for him. And now... now she was leaving him.

The feeling was somewhere between loss and heartache, like she was taking away an important piece of him: _her_. Because at some point over the past few years, the two of them had become a team: Bonnie-and-Damon, Damon-and-Bonnie. The inseparable duo. She had become a part of him, an appendage, a vital organ; something he couldn't live without. And for that he was angry. Because she wouldn't be the one who'd have to cut away half of herself and go back to being a singular entity: Damon-and-[redacted]. She'd just be gone, and he'd be left alone.

There was a deep pit inside his chest now, a gaping wound yawning wide and hollow. In a minute it was going to swallow him whole, and he couldn't let her see him like that.

"I need to be somewhere."

He didn't wait for a farewell; he just turned and clattered down the stairs. Gone was his usual grace. He stumbled, nearly tripped, holding onto the wall for a moment to keep from falling. He managed to keep it together until he got to the Camaro. Once inside, he roared, punching the wheel until it dented. Then he drove. He drove, not knowing where he was going, only that he needed to get far, far away.

Somehow he arrived on his brother's doorstep. Stefan saw his face and frowned.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Bonnie."

"What happened?" his brother barked. "What did you do to her?"

"It's what she's done to me." Damon was shaking. "She's dying."

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Stefan sat Damon down in front of the fireplace and offered him a drink: the entire bottle of bourbon. He wasn't exactly crying into his drink, but he was a mess and he knew it. Stefan knew it too, but wisely said nothing.

"How long do you think it'll be before she's had enough?" Stefan asked.

Damon had told his brother about how Bonnie wanted to die on her own terms. That there'd be no turning, no spells; there'd also be no slow, drawn-out death that left her the shell of the person she once was.

"A month." He could hear his own voice cracking, so he took a swig from the bottle. "Maybe less."

"I'm sorry, Damon."

He nodded slowly and took another chug. "It isn't fair, Stefan. People don't understand _how much_ Bonnie does for this town, how special she is, how important. We _need_ her."

"You mean _you_ need her?" Stefan hedged.

Damon scrubbed his face with a groan and let his head fall back. He wasn't here for his brother to play the psychoanalyst.

"I've got to get back to her." He sat up. "She shouldn't be alone right now. She needs someone with her before—"

_The end? The end of her._

"Ha, I really am an idiot." Damon laughed bitterly, running his hand through his hair. "I thought there was all the time in the world. I thought..." He shook his head.

It no longer mattered what he thought.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Later that night Damon stalked the hospital for what he needed: a bottle of morphine and a syringe. He patted his jacket pocket with a grimace, and wished to God that he would never have to use it.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

For a few days Bonnie seemed no worse, but then that tightness in her face that signalled a migraine stopped going away with the painkillers. She began to stumble. A week later Damon found her throwing up in the bathroom. He gave her some of his blood and it seemed to help a little, but it was a double-edged sword: it only made the cancer cells grow faster.

That same day she had her first significant aphasia episode. Caroline had asked her a simple question and the words wouldn't come to her. He watched her jaw working, her eyes bulging and her mind struggling, but still the words wouldn't come.

Bonnie looked up at him with panic behind her eyes before turning back to Caroline. "W-well, I-I—"

"Enough questions, Blondie," he interrupted, grabbing Bonnie by the elbow. "Bon-Bon's got a date with a ouija board. I need her to find something for me."

Caroline huffed, more than a little insulted, but Damon didn't give a damn. Once they made it outside, Bonnie took a deep breath. After a minute, she could speak again, but the damage was already done.

It was starting.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Magic was one of the last things to go.

One night she tried to light a candle, and it only resulted in a nosebleed. Her magic was gone. Or rather it was still there, underneath the surface. He could still smell it on her and she could still feel it inside her, yet she couldn't access it. It might as well have been gone.

That was the first time Bonnie allowed Damon to see her cry.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

A few weeks later, they sat together in the hospital room. The doctor was showing them X-rays.

The tumour had metastasised.

Bonnie looked up at Damon and he looked back. He was deafened by the noise of all that they weren't saying.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Two days later, Bonnie stumbled twice and nearly fell. The second time Damon caught her and guided her to a nearby chair, sitting her down.

"I can't see out of my left eye," she whispered. He could hear a tremor in her voice that he'd never heard before.

"Let's take you up to bed."

She looked at him pleadingly and his heart felt like it was breaking. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. He sat her down on the bed and she teetered. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse was racing.

She must have read the worry on his face, for when he started to get up, she held him back. "Damon—"

He knew what was coming. The morphine was burning a hole in his pocket.

"Not yet," he murmured.

"It's time."

"Not yet." He met her eyes. "_Please_, Bonnie."

"Okay," she relented, letting go. "Sunday, then."

Two days' notice. The first day would be for her friends to say goodbye. The second day would be for them.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

The next morning, Bonnie called Elena and Caroline over. When she broke the news, the girls wept openly, clinging to the witch like a life saver. She hugged them back and assured them that she wasn't in any pain, that it would all end very peacefully. They selfishly believed her, but Damon guessed they had to if they wanted to live with themselves.

Worst still were the looks Elena kept giving him throughout the day. He could tell that she was upset with him for not telling her about Bonnie, but he could honestly care less. How could she have not noticed that he had spent every day with Bonnie for weeks? How could she have not seen that something was wrong her best friend? The migraines. The dizzy spells. The sunken eyes. Bonnie's spark was dying out.

After the girls came the guys: Tyler and a very tearful Matt. Finally there was Jeremy. His face crumpled in that annoying way it did when he was about to cry, but he fought it off. Maybe he was trying to put up a strong front for her. Or maybe he was just used to people in his life dying.

Eventually night fell and, after some prodding, everyone left. The house was finally empty. Damon took Bonnie up to bed and was about to turn off all the lights and lock the doors when Stefan came. Bonnie had called him.

Stefan followed Damon upstairs and Bonnie brightened at the sight of him. She beckoned the younger Salvatore to come sit with her in bed and looked up at Damon pointedly.

"Damon, could we have some alone time?"

He nodded curtly. She wanted to talk to Stefan alone. It bothered him a little. More than a little. An irrational jealousy stabbed him in the chest. No, not jealousy but envy. Jealousy suggested ownership; envy was coveting what you didn't have. Damon didn't own Bonnie.

He left them and went downstairs, lingering in the kitchen. They didn't talk for long. A few minutes later, Stefan came down the stairs. His eyes were dry but terribly sad. He walked over to Damon and folded him into a hug. The elder Salvatore was more than a little shocked.

"What did you two talk about?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Stefan pulled back. "She wants me to look after you. She wants me to make sure that you're okay after... you know."

_After she's dead._

"Someone's sure of her importance," Damon quipped weakly. His attempt at levity fell extremely flat.

"I think she's got no more time for pretences." Stefan smiled sadly before touching his brother's arm. "Damon, I can't tell you how to feel about all of this. What I can tell you is that Bonnie's dying, and you're all she's thinking about."

Damon was speechless.

Shortly thereafter, Stefan left and Damon headed back upstairs. Bonnie was already nestled in bed.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"I'm all right."

He saw the pain in her eyes and took a deep breath. "Bonnie, I have to ask one more time—are you sure about this?" He sat down beside her on the bed. "Being a vampire isn't so bad. There's the super-speed and the super-strength. Plus you'll always be eternally twenty-something."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "No, I'm sure."

"All right." He exhaled shakily, running his fingers through his hair. "I had to try."

"I know," she said, grabbing his hand, "but it's better this way." She paused, her head weaving. "I'm sorry, Damon. I know what I'm asking from you is too much—"

"No, it's not." He laced his fingers tightly through hers. "You can ask anything from me, Bonnie."

And she could. He would have done anything for her, which included respecting her decisions. Bonnie had two equally horrible options before her, and she had the right to choose the one that would cause her the least amount of pain, that would grant her the most dignity. He would help her in any way that he could. Still... it killed him a little to help his best friend die.

"Damon, I..." She stopped, her mouth open, and then waved it off.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I—" She sighed, looking up at him with her large green eyes. "I just don't want to be alone."

Damon didn't wait; he climbed into bed with her. Bonnie scooted closer to his side, resting her head against his shoulder. They lay there for a while, not sleeping. Eventually, she drifted off and he stared at her face relaxed in slumber. He couldn't seem to look away. He couldn't think about the fact that in twenty-four hours he would never see this face again.

In that moment, Damon hated the universe. He hated whatever forces governed it. He hated them for bringing Bonnie into his life. Yet he'd never trade this life for one where he never knew her, even if it meant his heart wouldn't be breaking now.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Bonnie seemed a little better in the morning. She was fully dressed and standing beside the window, looking outside. For a moment it felt as if nothing was wrong, as if her cancer had just been a dream.

He hated everything.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I'd like to go out."

"Out where?"

"Into town, maybe?"

Damon obliged and drove her around Mystic Falls. They visited several of her favourite spots but ultimately ended up in the park near Wickery Bridge. They walked in silence. Bonnie's balance was tolerable, but she held onto his arm for support. She looked around, taking everything in with a smile on her face.

They eventually stopped to rest on a bench.

"Are we going to talk about it?" he finally said.

"About what?"

He laughed derisively. What other elephant was in the room? "The fact that you're going to die tonight."

"What's to say?" She shrugged. "I've made peace with my death, Damon. I never expected to live a long life. Remember, it never ends well for people like me."

He shook his head angrily. "But people like you are the most deserving to live long, fulfilled lives."

She smiled at him, nudging her shoulder into his. "You're right, I do deserve that. But since it's not in the cards, you'll have to live that life for me."

He didn't know what to say to that. He didn't want to have to live Bonnie's life for her. He wanted her to live it; he wanted to live it with her. He hated the fact that she couldn't live forever. He hated that he had to say goodbye.

"I never thought it'd end this way, though," she said. "Cancer; it's so mundane. I always thought I'd go out in a hail of glory or, at the very least, take someone evil with me."

"We could always bury Kai alive with you," he suggested, and she laughed.

"If you manage that, bury me in a position where I'm giving him the finger."

Damon smiled at her then, but it was strained. He didn't want to think about burying her. He didn't want to think about her rotting in the ground. He didn't want to think of her no longer existing in his world, bugging the hell out of him, judging him. It hurt too damn much to think that she'd soon be gone to a place where he couldn't follow.

"Damon, I don't want you to think that you could have prevented this; that there was some great plan to save me." She slipped her hand in his. "I need you to know that this is _my_ choice."

"A stupid choice," he muttered, before sighing. "But it's your choice, and I guess I respect that."

"Thank you."

She squeezed his hand, taking comfort in that respect. After all these years, he was still amazed that his respect actually meant something to her; that it meant anything at all.

"I need you to take care of Caroline and Elena for me," she said. "At least for the first few months. They'll miss me at first, but they'll move on. They're strong..."

She trailed off, staring out into the distance. After a moment, she turned and looked up at him. There was something raw behind her eyes.

"Will you miss me, Damon?"

His throat felt pinhole-thin, and he swallowed hard. There was no falling back on sarcasm or carefully crafted indifference.

"Till the end of my days, Bonnie."

She smiled brightly then, a tear trickling down her cheek, and he bent down to gently kiss her forehead. Unlike Caroline and Elena, Damon wasn't _strong_.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Caroline and Elena came over to the house one last time. Elena was doing her best to keep her composure, but Caroline was openly sobbing like a baby. Bonnie's cancer hit too close to home for the blonde, and since Caroline had been unable to say goodbye to her own mother, she needed that closure with Bonnie. So the girls had made Bonnie promise that she'd let them be with her at the end; however, it was a promise never meant to be kept. Bonnie had kept them out of the loop, and for that Damon was grateful. He needed her last moment to be with him.

Eventually the girls left and Damon took Bonnie upstairs to her bedroom. He sat her on the bed and nervously hovered nearby. He didn't know what else to do, what to say. Finally, Bonnie looked up at him.

"It's time."

His heart turned to ice. "Now?"

"Now."

The world seemed to be put on pause and Damon sank to the floor in front her, kneeling between her knees. She touched his head, spearing her fingers through his dark hair, and he inhaled shakily.

"No," was all he could manage.

"It's okay," she hushed. "I've died so many times before, this'll be a breeze." She laughed hollowly. "And I really don't mind dying, except..." Her voice caught at the end and he glanced up. "Except for you, Damon. I've spent some time imagining how I'd feel if our places were reversed, and I—"

"I thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with you," he blurted.

Bonnie's hand left his hair and she actually looked shocked. But then her mouth relaxed, curving into a watery smile.

"I guess I'm lucky, then."

Damon shook his head. "How?"

"Because..." Tears rolled down her cheeks, unbidden. "I got to spend the rest of my life with you."

Damon came undone. He wept freely then, his forehead resting on her knees. He was helpless. He had failed her.

"I'm sorry I can't fix this," he said through his tears. "I'm sorry for everything."

"But you have fixed it, Damon." She lifted his head and held his face between her hands. "It's because of you that I can go out this way, the way _I_ want."

She bent down, resting her forehead against his. They stayed this way for a while, eyes closed, before Damon finally found the courage to put her in bed. She didn't even wince as he slipped the hair-thin needle to the inside of her elbow, sliding it underneath her skin like water. Then he smoothed his hand along her hair and she sank boneless into the mattress. Her breathing became shallow, more deliberate.

"Damon..." Her voice shook, and he saw the naked fear in her eyes.

"I'm here, Bonnie."

"Damon, I'm afraid." He'd never heard her voice so small.

He climbed into bed with her and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head down to his shoulder. She was so tiny. She folded into an unbelievably small space, fitting into his lap. His arms encircled her completely and she grasped his hands before letting out a shaky breath.

"Damon—"

"Just relax," he whispered. "I'm going to take you to the dream world."

They were skating near the edge now, and she gripped him tightly.

"Damon, I love you."

A dull horror flooded him then. He desperately didn't want to hear her say that, just as desperately as he didn't want to say it back. Right now he was losing his best friend, and that was bad enough. He didn't know if he could stand to lose much more.

He couldn't look at the future that they were now being denied and admit that they could have had something other than friendship; that they could have had more. If he looked down that road which was now closed and see something else there, something always glimpsed at but never reached for, it might really break him for good.

But this wasn't about him. It was about Bonnie and, if she needed it, then it had to be said. And God help him to deal with the aftermath.

"I love you, Bonnie."

He could feel her limbs loosening. He shifted her around in his arms until they were facing each other. Her eyelids were slack. She was trembling.

"Bonnie, just look at me," he said. "Don't think. Don't try to hang on. Just look at me, okay?"

She did. Her eyes flickered over his, like she was trying to memorise his face. He kissed her on the lips then, gently. Her hand was on his cheek and she kissed him back. Into the kiss, Damon poured all of his tenderness, all of his love. After a minute, he let go and they rested their foreheads against each other's.

The waiting was agony, like a blade cutting deep into the skin. Damon could feel every second tick by, each heartbeat sounding like a reckoning. Eventually Bonnie took a few deep breaths and then she sagged in his arms. Her hands slipped from his and fell onto the mattress listlessly. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She was sleeping now. It wouldn't be much longer.

Damon gathered her close, wrapping himself around her, and entered her mind. It didn't take long to find her. He grabbed her hand and took them to her grams' front porch. Sheila was there waiting, pulling her granddaughter into her warm embrace.

"Don't cry, child," she murmured softly. "We'll be together soon."

Bonnie happily sobbed into her grandmother's breast before reaching back to grab Damon's hand. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for this."

The three of them sat there together on the porch steps, watching the sun set. Bonnie was nestled between them both, her head resting on her grandmother's shoulder as the sun's golden rays caressed her face.

"Do you think it'll it hurt?" she asked.

"No, child. It will be bright and warm," Sheila said, gently stroking Bonnie's hair. "It'll be peaceful, like going home."

Bonnie lifted her head and looked over at Damon for a second opinion. He just shook his head and reached out to her, trailing a thumb down her cheek.

"Bon, where you're going, nothing will hurt. My dreams—they can't even compare to the wonders that wait in store for you."

She smiled brightly at him then, radiant like the sun. "I'm going to miss you, Damon."

"Of course you will," he said, but his voice caught at the end. "But you'll never leave me, Bonnie. You'll always be here—" he placed her hand on his heart "—until my dying breath, and beyond that."

"And beyond that," she whispered.

A moment later, her head fell back onto Sheila's shoulder and she closed her eyes, exhaling her final breath. Damon could feel her body go limp in his arms, and the dream abruptly ended.

She was gone.

Damon opened his eyes. He was back in the real world. He stared down at Bonnie's face. She looked so peaceful, as if she were sleeping, but her chest no longer rose and fell with the signs of life. She was gone, and he wished to God that none of this was real.

He cradled her in his arms then, planting chaste kisses on her face. He was aware that he was talking to her, but he didn't know what he was saying. He might have been telling her that he loved her. He might have been cursing her out for leaving him. He really had no idea. It didn't matter. Those things were all true, whether he was saying them aloud or not.

He didn't know how long he stayed like this with her, but suddenly Stefan was there. When did he arrive? He was leaning over them, his face sad. There were even tears in his eyes. He had come to take Bonnie away. Damon wouldn't let him at first, but his brother finally coaxed him into releasing her and pulled the blanket over her body.

_The body_.

Damon got up then and walked across the bedroom. He made it halfway to the door before his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. Stefan said something, but he couldn't hear him. He put a hand on Damon's shoulder, but he couldn't feel it.

He felt nothing anymore.

·

**ẞĐ**

·

Damon left Mystic Falls after that, but Bonnie had never left him. She was always there with him, everywhere he went. Sometimes he could almost see her, riding with him in the passenger seat of the Camaro or sitting on the bed of whatever shitty motel he was staying in. He'd just have to shut his eyes and picture her. When he opened them again, she'd be there, smiling at him.

Sometimes he talked to her. He'd tell her about his day, how the others were doing—trivial things. Sometimes she'd answer him back, and they'd banter or joke. Sometimes he'd tell her that he hated her for leaving him behind, forcing him to clean up everyone's messes. But mostly he told her that he missed her.

Sometimes he'd tell her that he loved her, that he loves her still, but she would never answer him then. She never did when he said things like that. But then that was just like her: stubborn until the very end.

Someday he was determined to get an answer from her in person. Not today, but someday. Someday soon. Until then, she'd forever remain in his heart. Because Bonnie was a part of him—a part that Damon would never let go.

·

_**fin**_

·


End file.
